


Here's Your Cigar

by Nocturnal_Rainbow



Category: Friends (TV), Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Cigars, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Inspired by FRIENDS, M/M, Underage Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-06
Updated: 2018-07-06
Packaged: 2019-06-06 00:57:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15183218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nocturnal_Rainbow/pseuds/Nocturnal_Rainbow
Summary: This is a Sprace story that was inspired by Ross Geller and Joey Tribbianni's nap scenarios in F.R.I.E.N.D.S. Basically it's just Spot looking out for Race when he gets sleepy and it's adorable and kinda funny.





	Here's Your Cigar

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by F.R.I.E.N.D.S Mostly my own imagination. I wrote this for my best friend who had abandoned me all summer for camp. She asked me to write her fanfiction and mail it to her so this is the first one I wrote. Enjoy!

Race leaned against the brick building at the corner he was selling at, his eyes drifting shut briefly before a shout from a passerby jolted him awake. Fire sirens had blared through the night for the second time in a week and Race had trouble sleeping, sirens had always troubled him. He always over thought the reasons behind the sirens, creating scenarios in his head that made his mind race, no relation to his nickname, keeping him awake all night. He resumed hawking the days paper after vigorously trying to rub the sleep from his eyes. He had a few customers but most people brushed him off, a few commenting on the cigar dangling from his lips, he was so young. Race was always taken aback by these comments, he never felt that he was as young as he was, living on the streets and hawking headlines since he was only a child aged him quickly. As the flow of people down his street thinned out, he gathered his few remaining papes and moved to a spot closer to the Manhattan lodging house, the sun starting to sink in the sky. Race propped his tired body against another wall, his papes resting at his feet, awaiting a sucker who'd by the poor news. Once again his eyes began to flit closed, this time he wasn't jolted out of his near sleep state, he drifted in and out of consciousness.

A sturdy arm gently shaking Race startled him, he jumped, half asleep. “Get your pape here! Evening paper… Paper!” Race shouted in his not quite awake state, sputtering nonsense. As his vision focused on the person standing before him he grew even more confused.

“Spot? What is you doing here?” Race asked puzzled, gazing at the Brooklyn leader through his tired eyes.

“Yous was sleeping on your feet. I is waking you up,” Spot answered matter of factly.

“I can see that. I meant whats you doing in Manhattan.”

“Jack had me come over to settle agreements,” Spot dismissed the subject. “Race, you needs some sleep.”

“I'll be okay, I just gots to sell these last papes,” Race countered. A man walked by and Race approached, paper in hand, his selling ploy successful. The man was in a rush so he hadn't bothered to ask for change for the nickel he paid Race with. Race turned back to Spot who now had propped himself in the spot Race had just been dozing in, flipping the nickel. Race beamed his usual wide grin, wiggling his cigar in his mouth; Spot seemed unimpressed, arms crossed against his chest and a stubborn look painted across his face.

“That there nickel covers your last four papes, nows how about you go gets some shut-eye,” Spot gave Race a look that he couldn't argue with, though that wouldn't stop him from trying.

“What's it to you, huh Spot?” Race asked in the voice he used when he was trying to charm his way through something, whether that was selling a paper or getting Weasel to spot him papes. He stepped up to Spot, close enough where his cigar, ever dangling from his mouth, almost brushed against Spots nose. Spot snatched the cigar from his mouth, protests spilling out from Race before Spot pushed his head away with a hand over his mouth.

“You can't sleep on the job Race, it ain't safe,” Spot told him. “C'mon, let's get you back to the lodging house.” Spot grabbed Races arm and began dragging him down the street towards Manhattans lodging house.

Race tried to crack a few jokes on the way but Spot seemed to be immune to his humour. He had to bite his tongue to keep from making a height joke, he was too exhausted to get pounded by Spot, who despite being short was strong enough to carry a hundred papes and Race without straining a muscle. Race grew more and more weary as Spot tugged him along and by the time they were in front of the lodging house Spot was practically carrying Race. Race collapsed on his bunk, dragging Spot down with him whose arm that had still been supporting Races weight became trapped underneath his body. Spot yanked his arm free and sank down on the bunk by Races feet, leaning against the metal post of the bed. He leaned up on his elbows to look at Spot in curiosity, Races curls even messier now that his hat had slid off his head.

“You looks like hell,” Race remarked, barely awake. “Ain't you been sleeping either?”

“Turns out dealing with you is exhausting,” Spot retorted.

“Mmfh,” Race mumbled in response, finally falling asleep.

Race awoke feeling particularly comfortable, he smiled, not his usual playful grin but his genuine sweet smile. He was startled by a body squirming next to his and he realized there was an arm draped over his chest. Confused, he turned his head to see a just as frazzled Spot Conlon, they both jumped back and tumbled to floor on opposite sides of the small bunk.

“What the hell happened!? Spot?” Race stammered exasperated.

“I don't know. I don't know! Open that mouth of yours about this and I'll soak ya,” Spot snapped, his Brooklyn accent thicker than ever. Race watched still dumbfounded on the floor as Spot stormed out of the lodging house.

Race suddenly panicked, looking wildly around the room, thankfully no Newsies were inside the lodging house. Race climbed out to the fire escape to try to better gauge the time of day, or rather night as the sun was nearly completely set now. He thought it had probably only been about 30 minutes since he and Spot had got back to the Manhattan lodging house though it felt like hours. The Newsies would be getting home soon and Jack and Crutchie would be up in Jack's “penthouse in the sky” so Race wanted to enjoy the time he had to himself to sit in the cool breeze outside and think things over. Race always found comfort in the peacefulness of night and the slight chill in the air that accompanied the dusk. He found it cleared his head and allowed him to think about things without over analyzing them as he tended to do. That's why Race ran his mouth so much without thought, thinking things over caused him too much grief. At the memory of sleeping in such a close proximity to Spot, Race flushed, his cheeks heating with an inevitable blush. He had always blushed so easily, yet at the thought of Spots half asleep face, without any of his usual anger, Races blush intensified. When Spot wasn't maintaining his Brooklyn territorial, “soak’em” attitude he looked so peaceful, it intrigued Race. A frazzled, sleepy Spot Conlon was a rare and frankly, extremely attractive but sight that would not be forgotten easily. Before Races thoughts could go much further, Jack and Crutchie came clambering up the fire escape, pausing at the ledge where Race was residing to greet him.

“Finish early, huh, Race?” Crutchie questioned him.

“Only had five papes left, sold one, sucker gave me a nickel so I called it quits to gets some sleep,” Race told him, his poker face never once faltering.

“Wheres your cigar?” Jack asked, surprised to find the boy without it.

Race hadn't noticed he didn't have it with him until Jack said something, he had still been too flustered from his account with Spot. At the thought of Spot he was reminded of the short Brooklyn leader snatching the cigar out of his mouth when he tried to charm his way out of Spots stubbornness. Jack and Crutchie were staring at Race expectantly and he realized he must've been lost in thought for too long and he quickly masked himself with a face of anger and annoyance.

“Some punk stole it from me while I was selling today,” Race spit out.

“Why didn't you soak em?” Crutchie asked, confused.

“Too tired, I ain't been sleeping so well with them sirens blaring all night. They is too loud,” Race answered, his exhaustion setting in once again. “Well I is going to go try to sleep s’more.”

Race awoke to Jack yelling his usual “Get a move on, them papes ain't gonna sell themselves” and to his surprise he felt completely rested. Images of Spot had flashed through Races dreams and he could still feel the weight of his arm across his chest. To his dismay this comforted him, he found he felt peaceful being wrapped up with Spot in his mind. His heart fluttered as his memories of the night before and his dreams mixed together to form a single face. He already knew today was going to be a long day with his new found, dare he say, crush on the all powerful ruler of Brooklyn. Race sighed and relished the feeling once more before rolling out of his bunk and preparing for another long day of carrying the banner. He would have to survive the day, and however much longer, until he could go to Brooklyn to get his cigar back. He knew Spot wouldn't have smoked it, or, for that matter, let any of his boys smoke it on account of he liked to keep them healthy and strong, without weak lungs. Race could steal another but Snyder had been pretty persistent lately, hanging around and following some of the boys, he wasn't going to take his chances there. Besides, it was an excuse to go all the way to Brooklyn to see Spot, an excuse no one would question. Once Race finished getting reading he smacked the bunk above his, startling Albert who nearly fell out of his bunk. Albert clutched at the metal railing like his life depended on it, red hair tousled and his eyes wide with fear. Race laughed at the expression on Albert's face, earning him a slap in the head.

“Get youse self up, we got papes to sell,” Race swatted back at him.

“Why do youse always wake me up when I is having a good dream?” Albert grumbled still half asleep.

“Whatchya need dreams for when you gots me sweetheart?” Race winked.

“You is the reason I need dreams,” Albert shot back, mock disgust crossing his face. Race only stuck his tongue out at him before leaving him to get ready for the day.

It had been a slow day, the headline was about new laws that would keep the environment intact. Race had been forced to move selling spots three times in order to find a corner with a steady flow of people. He hated to admit it but thoughts of Spot had plagued his mind all day, Races stomach flipped at the sight of every short, muscular man who passed by, anticipation of seeing Spot ran high through his veins. By the time the sun started to set he was exhausted, wanting nothing more than to collapse in his bed. He had managed to sell his last few papes early despite the lousy headline, allowing Race to arrive back at the lodging house before the rest of the newsies once again. Race clambered up the stairs tiredly and just as he was about to sink into the thin mattress of his bunk, a loud crash jolted him to attention. The door had been pushed open and leaning against it panting was Spot looking like he'd just run here all the way from Brooklyn.

“Spot?” Race questioned, stunned. “What happened?” Spot held up a finger as he desperately tried to catch his breath, still leaning against the door. Race tried to focus on helping Spot and not the way his knees went weak with the way he was breathing heavily.

“I- I was coming to give you back your cigar, but not long after I crossed the Brooklyn bridge Snyder caught sight of me. I lost him a couple blocks back but I isn't gonna risk it,” Spot panted out, still trying to catch his breath.

“Spot, c’mere and siddown. Youse want some water?” Race asked, rushing forwards to help him to his bed if need be. Running all the way from the bridge was quite a distance, Spots legs must've been killing him. Race desperately wanted to touch him, in any way possible, even the slightest grip on his arm to steady him as he walked but he didn't dare. Spot sat down and Race brought him a glass of water which he downed in one gulp.

“Oh, here's your cigar, Race,” Spot remembered, handing the cigar back to Race.

“Thanks Spot, you didn't need to come here. I coulda hauled myself up to Brooklyn,” Race said slightly indignantly. He tried to mask any signs on his face that may give him away with his usual laid back, mouth off attitude.

“Well I saved you the trip,” Spot answered sleepily.

“Get some rest, Spot. Snyders still gonna be after ya and it's too late to go all the way back to Brooklyn.”

“Mmfhmm,” Spot grunted, nearly asleep.

Race laid down on the opposite side of the bed and Spot sank down next to him, making Race flush severely. Race smiled over at the exhausted Brooklyn leader, almost jumping when Spot stuck his arm out and pulled Race into him so Races head was resting near the crook of his neck. Race felt as if he were living one of the dreams that had lulled him to sleep the night before. Race couldn't resist the urge to gently press his lips to the soft skin before falling into a deep, comfortable sleep. Race was almost sure that he was awoken later in the night by the sound of Manhattans newsies softly arguing and Jack's voice shutting them up by telling them to “let them sleep.” Race was pulled back into sleep before he could worry about what they were discussing.

The bright light of the sun and the sound of newsies pointedly coughing awoke Race the next morning. When he opened his eyes he was greeted with the heart stopping sight of Spots sleeping face close to his and the feeling of their legs tangled together, their bodies pressed together so close they were nearly flush with each other. Race couldn't help the giddy smile that spread across his face and in a way where no one would notice he pressed a soft kiss to Spots muscular shoulder which he was currently using for a pillow. Except someone did notice, Romeo, who proceed to mock him and make kissy faces at him, alerting the rest of the newsies to Races gesture. Race turned his head to see all the newsies standing around his bunk staring at him and Spot. Some were mocking him or cracking jokes while the others just laughed along. It was a good fun, no true insults, but Race really preferred to be alone when he had handsome men in his bed that happened to have a death grip around his torso. Not that it happened often, or ever, but with the way Spot was holding him, he really wished they'd fallen asleep somewhere no one would interrupt them.  

“Well well well, what do we have here? Race has got himself a fella,” Finch laughed, stirring up the newsies once again.

“Not just any fella, a bigshot,” Specs shot back.

“This outta be in the papes,” JoJo piped up.

“Quick, how does it feel to be cuddled up with the famous, tough as nails Spot Conlon?” Albert joked, pretending to be a reporter. Race grabbed his hat and threw it at them, causing a few of the newsies to jump back.

“You want I should soak ya?” Race whisper yelled over the top of Spots head. The newsies threw their hands up in defense backing away, going back to their business getting ready for the day.

Race nudged Spot awake who smiled at the curly haired, blue eyed boy gazing down at him. Spot bit his lip and pulled Race a bit closer to his face so that their noses were almost touching. Race blushed furiously, trying to decipher whether Spot was going to punch him or kiss him, either way he was intimidating Race.

“You think I wouldn't notice you kissing me? And you think that I'd just do nothing?” Spot asked in a husky voice that made Race gulp. Race was unsure of whether he should be afraid or turned on but Spots rough morning voice and brown eyes darkened with intensity definitely enforced the latter.

Spot leaned forward even more, closing the distance between him and Race and finally pressing his lips against those of the beautiful boy above him. Race melted into it, forgetting the newsies that still occupied the room and slipping his fingers into Spots hair, pulling him as close as he could until Race was practically on top of Spot.  Spot supported the back of Races neck with one hand while the other rubbed the side of his face. The newsies erupted in a cheer at the sight of two of their friends happily kissing each other without a care in the world. Finally Race pulled away and smiled through his swollen lips at the look of pure bliss on Spots face. Race leaned forward on an impulse and pecked Spots nose.

“Do that again and I'll soak ya,” Spot threatened but Race was too happy to care, he simply laughed and got out of his bunk.

“C’mon, we still gots papes to sell,” he reminded Spot who was still sitting on Races bed smiling like an idiot.

“I is gonna sell here today, I'll head back to Brooklyn close to nightfall. That way I gets to see you later today,” Spot told Race with a wink, who nodded, suppressing his blush and offered a hand to pull Spot up and outta his bunk, which Spot just swatted away.

The headline for the day showed the potential for a good selling day, an expose on another juvenile jail that was abusing children. People loved that kinda stuff but Race knew those stories all too personally, making a shiver run down his spine. Since the headline was a good seller, Race decided to take 50 more papes than he usually did, as did many other newsies. Once all the newsies got their papers they looked to Jack to see if today he would give an inspirational speech, but today there was no need for one. The weather was nice, the headline didn't stink, and Race felt like he was floating on top of the world.

“Newsies hit the streets!” Jack yelled to his Manhattan boys, his classic grin reaching ear to ear.


End file.
